


What Happens in Vegas

by GlitterDwarf



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterDwarf/pseuds/GlitterDwarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time around at CES she had to share a fucking room because the guys at Pied Piper famously made shitty decisions. Whatever. Carla couldn’t imagine that it would be very different than the usual night-before-presentations: get high, get off, get sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> The promised femslash! Can we decide on the ship name? Monicla? Carlica?

**Contest #1**

There was a time in Carla's life where Vegas might have still been exciting, titillating, or however the fuck you were supposed to describe it. The first few times she went was fun, probably, as evidenced by the fact that she couldn't remember anything except snippets of alcohol, tits and falling down. But like any person who works in a global industry, Vegas gets real fucking old when you're there for conferences and exhibitions.

To be fair, though, this year was a little different. This time around at CES she had to share a fucking room because the guys at Pied Piper famously made shitty decisions. Because, yeah, sharing your room with your boss sounded real fucking horrible (especially when your boss was Laurie) but also couldn’t they afford separate rooms?

Whatever. Carla couldn’t imagine that it would be very different than the usual night-before-presentations: get high, get off, get sleep.

Which is why it was real fucking unexpected that at 10:28 P.M. she was outside in the freezing-ass January weather on the Strip, grinning and laughing her ass off.

“I beat you, bitch,” Carla laughed. Monica rolled her eyes, and Carla felt even more smug; Monica was clearly a sore loser, which made victory feel even better.

“There were probably just more people with flyers on your side of the street,” Monica huffed with her nose tilted in the air. They walked side-by-side to the nearest trashcan, where they stuffed a total of 174 (Ninety-five from Carla, seventy-nine from Monica) of those infamous escort cards. The challenge had been to see who could collect more of them in ten minutes, but the rule was that they could only get them from other tourists and not off the ground.

“So…” Carla drawled, smirking at the other woman. “Are you ready to give me your money or do you want to do double-or-nothing?”

“Like I’m letting you win that easily. I pick the next competition.”

“No problem,” Carla said with a smirk. “I’ll win anyway.”

Not that she was having fun or anything. But it was probably better than just being in their hotel room or whatever.

 

 

**Contest #2**

“You have to admit that this is a little ridiculous.”

“Shut up and open your mouth.”

It was a good thing that opening her mouth meant that Carla could hide a smile, because—okay, fuck it—things were getting kind of fun. Monica’s choice for the second contest was to see who could fit more M&Ms in their mouth at once (“You realize it’s unfair of you to use your oversized mouth?” “You realize you’re just admitting that you’re going to lose?”). They had raided the M&M store—together, in the name of fairness—and had already been kicked out right after purchasing the candy because, according to the tired-looking sales associate, “your yelling is scaring the other customers.”

“You can’t try to make me laugh,” Carla mumbled before opening her mouth and tipping her head back a few degrees until it rested comfortably against the wall of the building they were standing in front of.

“Don’t worry, Carla, I won’t play dirty, like you did,” Monica replied. Then, like a dirty player, she tossed the first one in with a little too much force, almost making Carla gag.

_Come on, Walton, you have suppressed your gag reflex before. This is easy._

One by one Monica plopped the little candies into her mouth, though much more gently after the first one, counting each as she went. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded; after just fifteen her mouth started to feel full and sore, which was far below the thirty-two that she needed to beat that bitch Monica.

After twenty M&Ms there was a pause. With her mouth open like an idiot, Carla raised her eyebrows at Monica in a gesture that she hoped conveyed “what’s the fucking hold up?”

“Sorry, I need a better angle,” she said brightly, sounding like a fake bitch. Carla had just enough time to switch her eyebrows so that only one was arched (“that’s fucking doubtful”) before her open jaw was cupped gently in Monica’s palm. Her eyes widened and both eyebrows shot up again—and, Jesus, it’s fucking _hard_ to convey everything through just your eyebrows, but Carla was pretty sure that she was putting on a whole show.

“Is this more comfortable for you?” Monica asked quietly. She was holding the M&Ms in her other hand, which was cupped near Carla’s open mouth and ready to resume the feeding. Carla took in a deep breath through her nose and gave a tiny nod.

Only two more got in her mouth before Monica’s own mouth opened, one more and Monica licked her own lips and that was it; Carla started choking. She jerked away, covered her mouth with both hands and ran to the closest trash can to spit up all of the candy.

Monica was there moments later, slapping Carla’s back.

“Are you okay?”

Carla straightened up, glared at the other woman and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I demand a tiebreaker round.”

  

**Contest #3**

“So this one is obviously best suited for your skill set,” Monica pointed out. 

“Mm, not necessarily true,” Carla replied as they navigated through the GameWorks crowd. “I don’t really play video games. I just talk a lot of shit while other people play them.”

The other woman barked out a laugh. It was getting almost surreal, really, the amount of times that he had heard Monica laugh that night when it had never happened before in their months of working together.

But then again, Carla was laughing more than she had in years.

That was fucking weird.

That couldn’t be good.

Right on cue, Carla tripped over another person’s foot. Monica’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm.

“Are you okay?”

Monica had really soft hands.

“Yeah dude,” Carla responded. Why the fuck was her voice so shaky? “Too many fucking people. Let’s find the PacMan game.”

They had to wait in line for a few minutes, as this console was unexpectedly popular. The extra time became infuriating when Carla realized that they were commiserating over similar nightmare experiences in their work history, and she really didn’t need anything else chummy to bring them closer as friends or whatever. It also didn’t help that standing still was making her feel the effects of the four shots they had each done before getting in line (because drunk PacMan would be a game of skill, obviously) and the longer she stood still, the more inviting it would be for them to lean on one another.

It was time to focus, to kick ass, and to pretend like the woman with her was still uninteresting, aloof, and boring.

“Fuck!” Monica screamed when her score wasn’t high enough to beat Carla’s. She smashed the buttons and kicked the machine hard enough for a glitch line to appear on the screen. So if Carla needed to hold her hand again, well, at least this time it was because fleeing the scene was way cheaper than the consequences. And not at all enjoyable, even if Monica was kind of fucking adorable when she was angry.

  

**Contest #4**

“Okay, this is a little obvious, but I’m feeling it,” Carla screamed (Said? Should have been quieter. Why was she so loud) into Monica’s ear.

“Good, because you’ll need the bravado,” Monica shouted back with a wink that made Carla’s stomach flutter. “We meet back here in thirty minutes with as many numbers as we can get.”

“Okay shut up already, I have strangers to seduce.”

Despite what people may think from looking at her hair and clothes, Carla could get a lot of sexual attention that wasn’t just from nerds or alternative people of all genders. She knew how to use her sexuality, and she knew the right strategy. The fact that they had quickly gotten new clothes (club-appropriate, of course) worked in her favor; she looked pretty fucking hot in this skirt and these heels.

Sizing up the club she was able to spot three different groups of men that were likely bachelor parties, which were all great for getting quick numbers. After getting these out of the way she found two more dudes to hit up, this time men by themselves. After that she was essentially out of time, so she started walking back to the bar.

Before she could get there, though, she got distracted by the sight of Monica whispering in a girl’s ear.

Carla really fucking needed another drink. And then another, after she found out that she had lost spectacularly.

  

**Contest #5**

“This is the final one.”

“Absolutely.”

“No more after this.”

“Winner gets the whole thousand dollars, yeah.”

“Okay.”

“So we’re good.”

“Yes.”

Carla licked her lips nervously and drummed her fingers over her naked thigh.

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?”

Her eyes tracked the movement of Monica taking a last hit from the joint, setting it down, and hiking her skirt up to her waist. Those long, crazy hot legs fell open and that sexy mouth that fit way too many fucking M&Ms split into a lopsided grin.

“Shut up and get to work, Carla.”

Of course the deciding event would be seeing who could hold off their orgasm the longest while masturbating. Because it was fucking Vegas, because there was no god, because everybody from O.J. to Erlich to the universe itself was trying to force them together.

So what the fuck. Carla sucked three fingers of her right hand into her mouth, wet them thoroughly, and got to work.

They were facing each other, of course, to verify that the other wasn’t cheating. They had to match rhythm and it had to be purely from clitoral stimulation, to make everything easier to verify. This meant, of course, that they each had a front-row, center stage, 4k HD lossless fucking show of each other’s cunts. And fuck if Monica’s wasn’t gorgeous, like the rest of her. Carla hadn’t even known that in real life people could have vulvas that looked as nice as porn star junk, but here it was, laid out for her eyes and already so, so wet. Monica didn’t even need to use her mouth to wet her fingers; all she had to do was spread her natural lubrication up to her clit to get going. If the twitching of her thigh muscles and her soft panting was any indication she was making herself feel real fucking good.

_Shit_ , because every little breathy noise and wet sound from Monica was pushing Carla way too close to being legit turned on, too quick. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping to calm down.

“That’s cheating,” Monica said in a strained voice. “You can’t close your eyes.”

Carla groaned and opened her eyes reluctantly.

“It’s not cheating,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even but failing spectacularly. “You just like watching me, don’t you?”

“Obviously.”

Carla shivered. She had been trying to call Monica’s bluff, but that had backfired real fucking bad. Monica bit her own lip and spread her legs wider. She looked way too fucking in control, and fuck if that didn’t make Carla even more turned on.

“You know, we met before Pied Piper.”

“What the fuck? No we didn’t.” Carla frowned; was this a trick to get even more of the upper hand? Because if it was, that was a weird strategy.

“We did. It was here, two years ago. I was scouting for talent, and you were in charge of the Earcast booth.”

“If this is a strategy, Monica, it’s failing because you’re just distracting me away from an orgasm.”

“It’s not a strategy, it’s the truth. I even came around a few times. I liked your sarcasm. I liked that you weren’t trying to impress anyone. You’re just confident because you have the talent. I wanted to get under the table and eat you out right there.”

“Jesus fucking shithole of Christ,” Carla gasped. What the fuck could you do after hearing that besides, you know, hump your own fingers without realizing it? Her toes curled automatically at the imagery.

“I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.” Monica was practically panting at this point. Even though there was an amazing fucking show going on down below—and really, her technique was captivating—Carla couldn’t look away from Monica’s eyes as they stared straight into her own. “I think about it when I’m at the house. About pushing you on top of your desk and laying you out. I would sit in your chair, spread your legs and eat your pussy so good. I bet you taste delicious.”

“Now who’s cheating?” Carla knew she was whimpering, knew she was losing control, but really who could respond any differently? She could feel her orgasm getting closer, but at this point she didn’t think she could stop it if Jesus, Buddah and Captain Planet came and used their powers combined.

“It’s not cheating if it’s true. I would do it. I _want_ to do it. Would you let me, Carla? Would you let me finger fuck you? I want to feel you lose control and squeeze around my fingers while I suck on your clit. I want to hear what you sound like when I make you come.”

“ _Fuck,”_ Carla practically shouted, and Monica got her wish immediately. She was bucking forward, humping the air as her orgasm rippled through her. She pounded against the bed with her other hand because really, it was all fucking _way_ too much. When the orgasm had finally abated she was just panting, staring at a grinning Monica.

“You won, you fucking bitch.”

“Maybe. Only if you let me make you come again.”

Carla laughed in genuine surprise. She did a sweeping gesture with one hand, essentially showing off her pussy.

“Be my guest.”

Her initial thought was that nothing could ever be hotter than the sight of Monica—head of operations for Raviga, board member of Pied Piper, accomplished business executive and overall woman extraordinaire—sucking on Carla’s wet fingers and saying “I don’t want to waste a drop.” But like so many other things that night, Monica was just going to keep topping all of Carla’s expectations. 

 

**Contest #6**

“We actually had a delightful, quiet night,” O.J. explained at the breakfast table the next day. “Very different from the night before TechCrunch.”

“Almost no dick-related math this time,” Gilfoyle said dryly.

“Indeed!” O.J., with the ever-dorkier vocabulary, practically twittered. He was in a weirdly good mood, which meant she would have to fuck with him later, obviously. It kind of made up for Richard, though, who was practically shaking like a shivering puppy from the stress. “Did you two have a good night? You appear more chummy.”

Carla snorted into her omelet. Her still-sore cunt muscles clenched in sympathy.

“Yeah, we did,” Monica said, sounding bored. Carla snuck a quick glance at her. She was just calmly sipping on tea, like she hadn’t caused another woman to pass out the night before.

“Great!” O.J. smiled as he cut up Richard’s waffles for him. “What did you do?”

“We had a competition to see who could make the other one come more times,” Monica said simply. The table went silent. Carla smirked, then looked around the table. Erlich looked turned on (ew), Gilfoyle and Dinesh looked amused, Richard looked like he was going to pass out (so no different from before), and O.J. looked…well, disturbingly pleased with himself. Carla hoped that wasn’t any kind of creepy, long-term corporate plan of his.

“She won,” Carla said with a shrug. “It was close, though, until I passed out.”

“Sounds delightful,” O.J. said. “See? I told you that sharing a room would work out great.”

Okay, it was _definitely_ a set-up.

Whatever. It was fucking worth it.


End file.
